


Words

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: The Ambush series [11]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 05:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: A lazy picnic in the park.





	Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobbeshalftail3469](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbeshalftail3469/gifts).



> Absolutely no plot, just pure fluff, because they’re lovely. <3

“Where did you have in mind?” Strike asked as they strolled through the park, the cool bag dangling between them as they held a handle each. The picnic blanket was slung over his shoulder, and Robin carried a small rucksack containing her book and sunglasses and various bits and pieces.

“Don’t mind,” she said, looking around. “Near the lake might be nice. Under that tree over there?”

Her phone pinged from her rucksack. “That’ll be Ilsa,” she said. “They’re meeting us here.”

They made their way over to the chosen tree and put the bags down. Strike shook out the blanket and spread it on the grass while Robin knelt to retrieve her phone from her rucksack. She read the text and made a face.

“They’re not coming,” she said, disappointed. “Something’s come up, Ilsa says, problem with the car. She’s waiting for a mechanic.”

Strike shrugged. “Maybe they can join later after they get sorted,” he said. “I get you to myself for a bit, though!” And he grinned at her.

Robin tossed her phone back into her rucksack and pulled out her book and sunglasses. “All the more food for us, too,” she said. “I didn’t make a flask, assumed we could get coffees here, there’s usually a coffee stand. I did bring this, though,” and she winked at Strike as she produced a miniature bottle of whisky with a flourish. “To liven up the coffee!”

He grinned down at her. “You know the way to my heart,” he said, and she blew him a kiss.

They settled down on the blanket to read. Strike pulled his battered copy of Catullus from his pocket, and eyed the lurid cerise cover of Robin’s book. “Er... chick lit?” he said. “That’s not like you.”

Robin laughed. “I’ll have you know this was Cosmopolitan’s book of the month last month!” she said. “Look, it’s got the sticker and everything.” She grinned. “No, I just felt like something light today, not too taxing on the brain.”

They read for a while, side by side on the blanket. There were few people in the park, and apart from the odd distant shout from playing children, the only sounds were the general distant hum of London and the nearer quiet quacks from the ducks on the lake. Robin’s book didn’t really hold her interest, but she enjoyed watching the birds scudding on the water, and her eyes strayed regularly to Strike stretched out next to her in T-shirt and sunglasses. Eventually he put his book down. “What?” he demanded, grinning at her.

“Still getting used to how gorgeous you are, and amazed that you’re all mine,” she said, and leaned across to kiss him.

“Words of flattery will get you everywhere,” he murmured and kissed her back. They lay for a while, softly kissing, and then Robin gently drew away.

“Food time,” she said. “Doesn’t look like Ilsa and Nick are coming.”

“I’ll text Nick later, maybe we could meet in the pub or something,” Strike said. “Or maybe I’ll just take you home to bed,” and he pulled her back for another kiss.

Giggling, Robin wriggled free. “Save it for later, flyboy,” she said sternly.

Strike grinned roguishly at her. “That’s RAF, not Army,” he replied.

Robin stuck her tongue out at him. “I know,” she said. “But it sounds better than squaddie.”

“Well, I’m technically neither these days,” he countered. “I’m a detective, remember?”

Robin started laughing helplessly. “I’m not calling you dick!” she managed. Strike laughed too.

Still chucking, Robin rolled onto her back. She idly picked a daisy from the grass next to her, and began counting the petals. “He loves me, he loves me not...” she recited, winking slyly at her partner.

“You don’t need to torture flowers to get that answer,” he told her softly. “He loves you.”

Robin smiled at him, her heart swelling with happiness. She gave a dreamy sigh and sat up. “I am actually genuinely hungry,” she said. “Let’s eat, and then work out where to get a coffee from.”

“There’s a seller over there in the bandstand,” Strike said. “I’ll go when we’ve eaten.”

They unpacked the food and ate, and gradually the wisdom, or lack of, of sitting so close to the lake became apparent, as they were soon being regarded by a cluster of ducks, eyeing up their picnic. Slowly the small crowd grew. Robin tried gently to shoo them, but they were persistent.

“We could give them the crusts,” Strike suggested.

Robin pulled a face. “You’re not really supposed to give them bread, only bird seed,” she said.

Strike laughed. “I’ll just wave my magic wand and produce some of that, then!”

Robin gave him a mock glare. “Well, you could at least produce some coffees,” she retorted, and Strike winked at her good-naturedly and clambered to his feet. He set off in the direction of the coffee stand, ducking under a branch as he went, and Robin packed up the remnants of the picnic and looked around for a rubbish bin.

By the time she had trekked round to the bin and back again, Strike was on his way back with the coffees. They met back under their tree, and Strike handed Robin her coffee and a small paper bag.

“What’s this?” she asked, puzzled.

“Bird food!” he said, triumphantly. “The coffee guy sells it.”

“Bless you,” Robin murmured, kissing his cheek. She opened the bag, and instantly they were surrounded again by quacking ducks. “Wow,” Robin said. “I guess they recognise the bags.”

Strike sat back with his coffee and watched fondly while Robin fed the ducks. He noticed how she moved around the squawking, bickering group, trying to make sure every bird got some of the food.

“You look like you’re trying to choreograph them,” he called, as the birds scuttled back and forth, chasing the handfuls of seed she cast.

“Just trying to be fair,” she replied.

Eventually the packet was finished and the birds drifted away, clearly knowing that there would be no more food. Robin brushed her hands on her jeans and stuffed the empty bag in her pocket, and returned to sit on the blanket and drink her coffee. Strike had split the small measure of whisky between the two, and they sipped appreciatively.

“Isn’t it amazing how things have changed?” Robin said suddenly.

“How so?” Strike gazed fondly at her.

“Between us,” she said. “You were so formal when I first came to work for you, so aloof. I knew almost nothing about you for ages and ages. And then we were friends. And now look at us!”

He grinned at her. “Vicious spiral?” he joked.

“Good spiral. I like,” she said, and leaned to kiss him again, enjoying the taste of coffee and whisky on his tongue.

There was another long minute of quiet as they kissed.

Robin drew back again, and smiled shyly up at Strike. “You know,” she said, winking suggestively. “We could always go back to yours for the rest of the afternoon, and still meet Nick and Ilsa later.”

This earned her another roguish grin. “I like your thinking,” Strike said. “I’ll text Nick now.”

He reached for his phone, and sat back against the trunk of the tree to type the text. Robin leaned her head on his chest and sighed, happy. She was humming under her breath, and Strike glanced down at her, kissing the top of her head.

“I recognise that. What is it?” he asked.

“Words,” she replied.

“The Bee Gees?”

Robin giggled. “Well, the Boyzone version for me, but yes,” she said. “It just feels like it fits the moment, when you smile at me. “Smile an everlasting smile, a smile can bring you near to me...””

Strike rolled his eyes. “Soppy,” he pronounced. But he was still smiling as they collected their things and strolled, hand in hand, back across the park.

 

 


End file.
